Contemplation
by God and the Fox
Summary: 5 times that Sebastian thought about his life, and 1 time that Jim did. Implied MorMor, but nothing explicit.


1 - Sebastian

Jim was a psychopath, true, but that didn't mean that Sebastian didn't have feelings. It was 3am and he lay on the couch, his long legs dangling off the edge, staring at the muted telly without interest. Unlike his boss, he wasn't unaffected by the lack of sleep that their schedule seemed to be made up of, and he almost groaned out loud at how heavy his eyelids felt. Regardless, he would stay up as long as Jim did, and that could be minutes, hours, or days. Sebastian could never tell, and the one time he had tried to ask, he had been punched, and still never received an answer.

Jim sat on the floor beside him, fingers clicking furiously against the keys on his laptop as he worked – giving out orders to his subordinates or doing complex calculus or planning world domination, Sebastian didn't know and didn't ask. It wasn't his job to know. Jim had been working like this for hours, and Sebastian figured that he had lost track of time, but one never really knew with Jim – even if he seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings, he could sometimes describe the scene in an absurd amount of details. One of the perks of being a madman, he supposed. Instead of trying to decipher the words pouring out of Jim's fingers, Sebastian watched the expressions flit briefly across his boss' face, and he thought.

One day, this city will burn. One day, this city will burn, by my hand, and all the stars will rain down on his head. Jim stopped typing and looked up at him briefly and gave a half smile, as though he knew what the larger man was thinking and thought that the idea was preposterous because stars can't really fall to Earth, and if they did, it would mean the Apocalypse, not silly poetry, but even knowing, he would allow Sebastian his fantasies. He didn't say a word, and went back to typing just a moment after. Sebastian grunted and got off the couch to clean his guns.

2 – Sebastian

The wind was cold against the back of his neck and he realized that he would need to buy a new coat soon. This one was his favorite, but it was old, and it just didn't keep the cold out the way that it used to. He didn't flinch as the gusts grew bolder, clamping his teeth down and focusing solely on the target down below, unknowingly on the wrong end of a sight. Sebastian blinked slowly, wondering if icicles could form on his eyelids. He had been up on this rooftop for hours, gun trained to the same location, waiting for the right moment, the perfect shot, the chance for a clean, no fuck-up kill, just the way Jim liked it. He had never needed to shoot twice, and cold or not, today would not be the day that he broke that record.

This was supposed to be his day off. He rarely got them, and when he did, they were treasured. He had looked forward to the day all week, since it had been announced to him. He had planned to stay in bed, eating junk food and watching crap telly. Those were his guilty pleasures in life, and it was far too rare that he got the chance to indulge in them. Jim was supposed to be in Russia, and he could only do those sorts of things when the madman wasn't around; he didn't approve of sloth. But instead of having a day's respite, Sebastian was woken at 4am to a text – no apologies or explanation, just an address and a picture of a man. He understood the order.

His target stepped away from the group of men he had been talking to, beginning to walk to somewhere else – Sebastian didn't know where and didn't care. One of the man's friends called back to him, and he turned back. For a moment, just a single moment, the man was standing alone, still, on the sidewalk. Inhale, finger on the trigger, slow exhale, pull. The shot was clean and it took a few moments for the surrounding people to even realize that the man was dead. Sebastian shivered and sat up on the roof, packing up his gun and preparing to go home. It was ridiculous to be working on a day this cold, he thought, his day off, no less, and really, he wouldn't do this for anyone else. Only for one person. For Jim.

3 – Sebastian

Sebastian was making coffee when it hit him – when had he become so domestic? Sure, he stilled killed. His primary, official job was as a sniper, and he even did hands-on work when the situation (meaning Jim) called for it. But it was different now. Before, in his life, he had been in the army, living in war, and then, hunting, facing down the ferocious tigers that everyone else was terrified of. Everyone still flinched at his name. But little did they known that at 7am on a Sunday morning, Sebastian Moran stood in the kitchen he shared with Jim and made coffee. If Jim asked for it, he would also make breakfast. Sebastian certainly wasn't the greatest cook in the world, but he would attempt whatever the criminal asked for, on the rare occasions that he asked for food at all. It was just how their routine worked.

He scoffed at himself, at the absurdity of it all. What would they think – his fellow soldiers, the villagers that saw him carrying tigers across his shoulders, the seething masses of the underworld – if they could see him like this? Would it soil his image, tarnish his reputation as the second most dangerous man in London? He wasn't sure, but he didn't think he cared that much. Regardless of his official job description, as far as he was concerned, his job was to do only one thing, and that thing included Sunday morning coffee. His only job was taking care of Jim Moriarty.

4 – Sebastian

Jim had never explicitly fussed about Sebastian smoking in the flat, but Sebastian knew his boss disliked it from the twisted-up look he got on his face whenever he came across Sebastian with a cigarette. Because of that, whenever possible, Sebastian smoked outside. The flat had a nice balcony, and he often stood out there, lit cigarette dangling from his lips, looking down over the city. It was a nice view, and even a battle-hardened soldier like himself couldn't help but appreciate it. He spent a lot of nights out there.

Tonight was not one of those times. Jim was gone on another business trips, one of the many he always seemed to be taking, and Sebastian was alone in the flat. It was raining out, and he took the opportunity to enjoy his cigarette inside. Even so, he smoked in the kitchen, leaning half out the window over the sink. Jim wouldn't enjoy coming back to the flat smelling like smoke, and Sebastian knew that the criminal overlord would pout for days if the bedroom smelled like it. He had made that mistake once and would never repeat it.

Things happened that way with Jim, he mused. When Jim taught lessons, he taught them thoroughly, and there was no way you would ever forget them. Though, he supposed, that only applied to him. For most people that fucked up, they didn't have a chance to learn the lesson. They earned themselves a bullet through the head if they were lucky, or torture if they weren't. It all depended on Jim's mood. Sebastian had never been subjected to either of those things, though. Maybe Jim cared for him on a deeper level, or maybe he was just convenient to keep around, Sebastian wasn't sure which. Either way, his lessons might leave him with black eyes and a split lip, but never led lodged deep in his brain. They didn't need to. He always learned the first time.

5 – Sebastian

Contrary to what many people might think, Sebastian was a smart man. He had excelled in school, when he had bothered to show up, and even when he didn't go, he mastered the material that was being taught to his peers. Even more so, he had picked up a lot of life skills. He was an excellent shot, of course. He could play cards and pool, and he could drink with the best of them. He knew how to be seen when he wanted to, and to be invisible when he didn't. He could pick any lock within minutes, and break into a place without leaving a single trace that he had been there. Sebastian did well at any skill that he took the time to bother with learning. One of the things he was especially glad to be knowledgeable about was medical care.

When Jim had left that night, he had insisted on going alone, and Sebastian had only grunted. It was a fairly common thing for Jim to do, and Sebastian hadn't thought much of it. He didn't even know where his boss was going, but Jim hadn't said, and Sebastian knew better than to ask too many questions. If Jim had wanted him to know, he would have told him.

It was only when Jim stumbled back in the door, hours later, with a torn suit and blood running down his arm, that Sebastian worried. He simply stared for a moment, dumbfounded. This was Jim. Jim never got hurt. He had never faced this situation before, and wasn't entirely sure how to react. Soon, his instincts kicked into action. He rose from his spot on the couch and hurried over to his boss. He tried to grab his shoulders to steady him, but Jim pushed him off.

"Get off me. I'm fine."

Sebastian ignored the barked order and helped Jim over to the kitchen counter, which was thankfully clear of any junk. He lay the smaller man out on it, and begin to tear at the fabric of the coat on the arm, anxious to see the wound and assess the damage.

Jim groaned. "That's Westwood, you fucking wanker."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. The man might be dying, and of course he was worried about the state of his precious suit. It wasn't like he couldn't afford another one, or twenty more, but he knew that wasn't the point. Those suits were his pride and joy, no matter how dumb Sebastian (and most other people) found it. He got the suit open and looked at the wound, finding that while it was still bleeding, the flow had lessened considerably. Jim would need stitches, but he wasn't in any immediate danger. Sebastian knew that any hospital was out of the question – all the medical work would have to be done here, and since Jim didn't trust anyone else to see him in such a vulnerable state, Sebastian would have to be the one to do it.

"Boss, I don't have any anesthetic on hand." He almost felt bad, because he knew that this would hurt, but he knew that Jim could take it. He'd handled worse without even flinching. If he had walked all the way back here with this stab wound, he could certainly handle a few stitches. At least, Sebastian hoped that that was the case.

Jim grinned wide, manically. "Sew me up, tiger."

Sebastian went to the bathroom for a needle and some surgical thread. He returned to the kitchen to see Jim watching his every move, like a hawk. Without another word he began to stitch up the wound Jim had gotten himself. He was very glad that he had a decent amount of medical knowledge.

1 – Jim

Jim had never found life to be very interesting. As a boy, he had soaked up knowledge much faster than his peers, and even his father's immense library hadn't been enough to keep him entertained for more than a year. He was a genius, by anyone's standards, and he knew that no one was his equal. No one could stand beside him. Sherlock could come close, but it would never be the same. Sherlock read people, read the little clues, but that was an easy skill, as well as a pointless one. People were boring. They were easy to figure out. They weren't a challenge. Everyone was terrified of him, cowering in corners and begging for their lives. Pathetic. It was almost doing them a mercy to shoot them, the way he saw it. It was all just so tedious sometimes.

He lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. It was too dark to see anything but the outline of the ceiling fan, and he watched the blades twirl, each one moving too quickly for his eyes to keep up with. He turned to his side to contemplate the body of the man lying next to him. The sniper was still, and his eyes were shut, but Jim knew that he wasn't asleep. He never fell asleep before Jim did, and probably with good reason.

"Seb."

He cracked an eye open. "Mm?"

"I'm bored."

"Jesus Christ, Jim." Sebastian groaned, opening both eyes and glowering at the smaller man. Jim knew he didn't like to be bothered when he was trying to sleep, but the smaller man didn't really care.

Jim giggled at him. "Let's play!"

"No." Sebastian responded, not feeling at all indulgent.

Jim was unfazed. He sat up on the bed quickly, and just as fast, punched Sebastian hard, underneath his jaw. Sebastian growled and jumped up from his place on the bed, hitting Jim back just as hard. Jim fell backwards, sprawling across the carpeted floor. Sebastian moved over to him, highly annoyed, and kicked him in the ribs. Jim giggled again, rolling across the floor in his laughter. Sebastian scowled and went to the kitchen for a drink.

Jim smiled to himself. Maybe not everyone was so boring after all.

**A/n: I'm not British, so I apologize for any mistakes in terminology. This is my first MorMor fic, and I must admit, I haven't read the original Sherlock series (shame on me, I know!), so if this is out of character, I apologize for that as well. I really appreciate feedback, whether it be positive or negative. I hope you enjoyed!**


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